


come and taste the reason (i'm nothing like the rest)

by shineyma



Series: demon!grant [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, Ward x Simmons Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma's night out gets crashed. It's not exactly a surprise.</p><p>[For the <b>Bite</b> theme at Ward x Simmons Summer.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the same verse as ["That is the tenth demon summoning this week!"](http://shineyma.tumblr.com/post/113003657857/that-is-the-tenth-demon-summoning-this-week-holy) and, obviously, the first story in this series. Additionally, this serves as a fill for the **Bite** theme Ward x Simmons Summer.
> 
> Title is from Halestorm's _Love Bites (So Do I)_. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

The club is packed to the rafters.

On the dance floor, at the bar, against the walls—there are people everywhere, forced by lack of space into such proximity that it’s impossible to tell strangers from friends from lovers.

It makes Jemma’s circumstances all the more obvious and, thus, all the more depressing.

The one exception to the overcrowding is in the area around her. She’s at a table in the corner, and—aside from her—it’s empty. As are the two tables nearest it.

“I’m not _diseased_ ,” she grouses to herself, scowling at the empty seats surrounding her. “Bloody demons.”

It’s his fault, of course—the demon who’s claimed her. The vast majority of the clientele at this club are either supernatural or supernaturally inclined, and they can all see or sense whatever invisible _mark_ that stupid demon left on her. None of them are willing to risk getting anywhere near her—which means her attempt to pull was over before it even began.

She could just go to another club, of course—surely there’s at least one in this city where _normal_ humans gather—but it’s the _principle_ of the thing. She’s young, nubile, and has an above-average fashion sense; she shouldn’t have to _hunt around_ for people willing to shag her. They should be lining up! They should be _begging_ and offering _gifts_ for her favor, and—

—And it’s possible she’s had a bit too much to drink.

Ah, well.

She knocks back the rest of her drink (something brightly colored and sweet; she’s long since forgotten the name) and presses the service button in the middle of the table. The one advantage of the utter terror her mere presence evokes these days is that she gets excellent service; it’s only a moment or two before another bright blue concoction is being set at her elbow.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

It’s not truly a surprise that the drink comes accompanied by her personal demon, and she doesn’t bother to pretend it is. She simply restricts herself to a scowl and a dismissive wave.

“Go away,” she orders.

“That’s not very nice,” he observes. The table’s high, as are the backless stools surrounding it, which makes them of a height while she’s sitting and he’s standing. As a consequence, it’s far too easy to meet his smugly gorgeous eyes as he leans in. “And after I brought you a drink and everything.”

“Go away,” she repeats, and pointedly turns her back on him.

He doesn’t, of course—when has he ever? Instead, he presses himself up against her back, hands gripping her waist and chin hooking over her shoulder. Something hot curls low in her abdomen, and she holds tightly to her cold drink.

“You sure?” he asks. “You look lonely.”

She _is_ lonely, honestly. There’s been a tension, a distance, between her and the team—even Fitz—of late, and it’s left her feeling a touch isolated. That (in addition to just how long it’s been since she had sex) was part of what drove her out tonight in the first place.

But she won’t be getting sex—or even simple companionship—from anyone here.

…Anyone except him, that is.

Hmm.

It’s a terrible idea. Probably the worst she’s had all year. But his touch, as ever, burns through her, and she can feel the leashed strength in his hold on her waist—and she’s never forgotten the way his wards crackled through her on their second meeting.

And he’s very attractive, isn’t he? She’s always thought so, and with her usual fear of him gone (chased away by liquid courage, she expects), he’s even more so.

“I _am_ lonely,” she admits.

“There, see?” he asks, and she can hear his grin in his words. “You need company, and I’m more than happy to provide it.”

His hands flex a little on her waist, and she can’t help wondering what they’d feel like in other places—less chaste places. They’re so _warm_ , so strong, and the last time she saw him (her hospital room in France; he spent twenty minutes poking at every piece of medical equipment and muttering unflattering things about human technology) she had ample opportunity to examine them.

She shifts in her seat, remembering the way she became transfixed by his broad palms and the length of his fingers—remembering the dexterity in them as he braided three strips of leather together to make her a bracelet he claimed would aid in healing.

(And it actually did…not that she’ll ever admit to him that she _wore_ it.)

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Yes, actually,” she says, and swivels her stool to face him. He has to release her in order for it to be possible, and she’s resigned—though not surprised—to note that she misses his touch the moment it’s gone. “I had plans for tonight, and you ruined them. I believe I’m owed compensation.”

He grins, so clearly amused that she’s tempted to throw her drink in his face, just to wipe that look off of it.

“Oh, are you?” he all but purrs. “And what kind of compensation would you like, sweetheart?”

It’s not exactly a shock that the endearment affects her just as strongly as her name does, coming from him. There’s something so very compelling about him, something that draws her in, defying all reason and sense.

She’s going to regret this. She is absolutely going to regret this.

But she’s lonely and she’s a bit drunk and he’s been after her for _months_ , popping up every time she turns around, and even she can’t resist temptation forever.

So, by way of an answer, she fists her hands in his shirt and yanks him forward for a kiss.

His hesitation is so brief that she barely notes it, and she hasn’t the chance to second guess herself at all before he’s kissing her back—before he’s taking control of the kiss, turning it into something deeper, something _hungry_ —and heat sweeps over her like a wave.

He buries a hand in her hair, and she can’t help a sigh as the fingers of his other hand slide over her jaw. She’s been kissed before, of course, and kissed well, but never like _this_. His hands and his mouth and his tongue and the _heat_ of him, the sting of his teeth in her bottom lip as he draws back, the—

Oh. _Oh_.

She can _feel_ the privacy spell that settles over them, a little touch of magic that will prevent anyone from noticing them (or anything they might get up to), and it’s both exactly and nothing at all like leaning against his wards was. It’s pure arousal, but it’s not electric this time—no, this she feels like a physical touch, like those long, lovely fingers have slid into her and _twisted_. Her cunt clenches on nothing, and she cries out.

“Oh, you felt that, didn’t you?” the demon asks, mouth curling into an annoyingly attractive smirk. “Little sensitive there, Jemma?”

She is, and he knows damn well that it’s his own doing. She never used to be able to sense magic this _strongly_ ; it’s only since he marked her, thereby increasing her power, that she’s become attuned enough to sense individual spells.

But she’s hardly going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Shut up,” she orders, breathlessly, and pulls him back in for another kiss.

This one is just as hungry as the first, but there’s an edge to it, something almost _mean_ , that leaves her whimpering. She wants to climb inside of him—or rather, wants him to climb inside of _her_ , wants him to fill her up, wants to feel those hands _everywhere_ , wants to find out if he can deliver on even half of the promises his magic has made—

Somehow, at some point, their positions change, and around the third or fourth time they break for air she realizes that he’s taken her seat and she’s straddling his lap.

This is a very promising turn of events, she feels.

She kisses him yet again, nips at his bottom lip and feels him grin against her mouth. Her hands are cupping his jaw (when did that happen? She’s not certain), and—with regret; his stubble feels amazing against her palms—she lets go in favor of undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Unfortunately, she only manages three of them before he stops her.

“No,” he says, tearing his mouth away from hers and catching her wrists in his hands in one quick and very disappointing second.

“No?” she echoes unhappily. “What do you mean, _no_?” He’s been winding her up for _months_! “If you say you don’t want me—”

“Oh, I do,” he promises. He shifts his hips a touch, and she’s forced to bite back a whimper at the evidence of how much he wants her, that he’s just as desperate as she is. “But not like this.”

“Like what?” she asks.

He’s long since removed her clips, leaving her hair loose around her face, and he tucks it behind her ear now.

“When I fuck you,” he says, voice full of dark promise, “it’s not gonna be because you’re drunk and horny. It’s gonna be because you _want_ it—because you’re ready to accept what it means.”

She blinks. “What does it—?”

“That’s for later,” he interrupts. “For now, I think I’d better get you home. But first…”

His hands grip her hips and tug her forward on his lap, and before she can complain about mixed signals, he bites her, right at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

It’s not the first time tonight his teeth have met her neck—she’ll have several hickies to explain to the team tomorrow—but it’s certainly the most severe. He stops _just_ short of breaking the skin, and pain wars with pleasure in a way that leaves her nearly dizzy.

She means to say something—doesn’t she?—but she only gets as far as opening her mouth before the demon sucks at her skin, and a wholly indescribable feeling sweeps through her.

It’s not an orgasm, but it’s _very_ close. She feels it all over, from her scalp to her toes, an unbelievable _flood_ of pleasure, and all she can do is cling to him and quake—can’t even catch her breath to make any sort of noise—until it’s over.

When it is, he sits back against the table, looking unsurprisingly smug.

Jemma’s thoughts have deserted her entirely; she’s still so lost in sensation, her whole body throbbing in time to the heavy beat of the music blasting through the club, that she doesn’t even realize she intends to speak until she’s already said,

“I don’t know your name.”

It surprises a laugh out of him, and his smugness fades out in favor of something almost fond.

“Yes, you do,” he says, and gives her a quick, chaste kiss. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

That…makes no sense at all.

“What does that mean?” she asks, utterly lost.

“Think about it,” he suggests. “You’ll figure it out.”

She doesn’t get the chance to press for more; he urges her off his lap, and her knees are so weak that she nearly falls, which serves as an effective distraction. He catches her against his chest with a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s time for you to go home.” He hugs her close for a moment, then steps back. “Call your brother. You’re in no state to drive.”

“My brother?” she asks, dazed and a little slow after the kissing and the biting and, yes, even the hug.

In answer, he taps a finger over her heart—precisely where her bond to Fitz sits.

“Oh,” she says. “Right. Good idea.”

Fitz isn’t actually her brother, but he’s as good as, and she doesn’t feel the need to correct the demon. She _does_ feel the need to thank him, but that’s just absurd, so she holds it back.

“Goodnight, then,” she says instead. He smiles.

“Be seeing you,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving Jemma alone and unsettled by her own reaction.

It’s not the first time he’s said it—it’s not even the first time he’s said it without eliciting dread from her.

It _is_ , however, the first time she’s found herself not only hoping that she _will_ see him again, but that she’ll see him _soon_.

“Oh, dear,” she sighs, and reaches for her abandoned drink.

She might be in quite a bit of trouble.


	2. the demon's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over on tumblr, thestarfishdancer requested [the demon!grant verse](http://shineyma.tumblr.com/tagged/verse%3A-demon) for my verse-specific one sentence meme.
> 
> So, here! Have some one-sentence fics, all from Grant's POV, that might answer a few of your questions! I've shamelessly stolen from JD's brilliant [everywhere](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5937685/chapters/13654213) for formatting, though I've put my own little twist on it by separating them into parts relating to the existing drabbles/fics in the verse. Those fics are linked for your convenience, including the first chapter of this one! :D
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

[through the tenth demon summoning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2257212/chapters/7855229)

**Before**

He’s annoyed by her reticence and reluctance to let him mark her, but not particularly troubled, as they have plenty of time; then she’s stolen from him, life cut short by a man who will suffer for it eternally, and time becomes his enemy as he awaits her return.

**Dreaming**

Two years after she dies, he stops sleeping; dreams of her are no substitute for the real thing, and he’s tired of waking to an empty bed.

**Regret**

As the centuries pass, long and empty, he reaps chaos and bargains for souls and always, always hunts for her, though she’s nowhere to be found; the mortal population grows ever larger, and without a connection to her soul, searching for her reincarnation is as hopeless as isolating out a specific piece of hay in a stack of it.

**After**

Centuries and centuries of searching, and all he gets, finally, is a moment: a brief glimpse of a young girl across a campus, gone by the time he reaches the building; still, though, it’s the first hint he’s gotten of her since her death, so many years ago, and he clings to it over the decade of frustrated hunting that follows.

**Reason**

He watches her at the site of the failed summoning, cataloging the differences in her even as he drinks her in: she is sweeter and kinder in this life, a scientist and a researcher rather than a spellcrafter, and, most importantly, far less likely to eventually accept his mark; unlike his witch, who would have taken it eventually, Jemma is brimming with a Goodness that will never allow her to accept a bond with a demon—and so, he does not offer her the chance to refuse.

 

[to and during this is what i brought you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4403990)

**Trip**

Her brother is in this life, as well, but so too is another young man, one he doesn’t know—one who touches her easily, hugs her close and scolds her fondly and looks at her with affection that incites the urge to boil the boy’s blood.

**Pride**

She’s frightened by his sudden appearance and wary of his power, but even as she physically retreats from him, her own magic is reaching out, desperate to make contact with him; _Jemma_ may not remember him, but her soul does, and it’s missed him just as much as he’s missed her.

**Greed**

Her team is just outside, battering at his wards, and though they have no hope of breaking them, he’s in no hurry to attract SHIELD’s attention before he’s ready; still, he can feel the desire buzzing through her—desire _his_ wards put there—and takes the time to steal a kiss before he leaves (though he’d love to steal even more).

 

[between this is what i brought you and come and taste the reason](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3595836/chapters/10427229)

**Envy**

Jemma smiles easily at her team and accepts their presence with pleasure, even though her hurt at the subtle distancing that results from their subconscious awareness of his mark on her is clear; yet he, who wants nothing more than to have her always at his side, is watched with wariness and distrust.

**Beauty**

She’s furious with him, this sweeter-tempered reincarnation of his witch, and it grows with each visit as he taunts and teases her; he’s not helping his cause, but anger makes her so lovely—so fills her with fire and life—that he really can’t stop himself.

**Difficulty**

It’s nearly impossible to catch her without her team as their fear of his interest in her grows and begins to outweigh the distance his mark urges them to create; his frustration builds and his wrath with it, but he knows removing them will do more harm than good.

**Pretend**

She watches him with dazed eyes as he pokes around her hospital room, displeased by the accommodations (humanity lost its memory of magic, somewhere along the line, and has only recently re-accepted its existence; technology rules, in this day and age, and it’s utterly _useless_ ); the easy way she allows his presence and even his touch is likely down to the drugs she’s been given, but he lets himself believe she’s finally softening towards him.

 

[come and taste the reason...and beyond](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4816298)

**Peace**

There’s heat in the kiss, along with a kind of drunken frustration, but mostly there’s _life_ , and for the first time in centuries, the weight of the memory of her corpse, cold and _empty_ in his arms, is gone from his heart—if only for a moment.

**Passion**

He should end this—she doesn’t know him yet, not really, and the time isn’t right—but she’s warm and wanting in his lap, accepting everything he gives her and demanding more, and he can’t make himself push her away.

**Weather**

He finds her at an opportune moment: a swirling blizzard has chased her into an isolated and mostly abandoned base, and her team is miles away; for once, they are guaranteed privacy, and he gleefully takes advantage of it.

 


End file.
